Tumor

Easter
Kids
Hometeaching
Worked on application for #1's gifted program
Appalled at thought of abandoning

I Don’t Wanna Miss A Thing, But I Am

I stumbled across this incredibly talented act on YouTube recently, and have had their channel running this evening. I like Aerosmith--primarily their '70s and early '80s classics--but wasn't familiar with this song until I heard the Pomplamoose version.

Does anybody really feel this way about anyone they know really well? Of course some people do -- I know two, maybe three couples who do. But feeling like this, and being felt-about like this, seems unbelievably foreign to me, or at least to the last dozen-plus years of my experience.

I could stay awake just to hear you breathing
Watch you smile while you are sleeping
While you're far away and dreaming
I could spend my life in this sweet surrender
I could stay lost in this moment forever
Where every moment spent with you is a moment I treasure

Don't want to close my eyes
I don't want to fall asleep
Cause I'd miss you babe
And I don't want to miss a thing
Cause even when I dream of you
The sweetest dream will never do
I'd still miss you babe
And I don't want to miss a thing

Lying close to you feeling your heart beating
And I'm wondering what you're dreaming
Wondering if it's me you're seeing
Then I kiss your eyes
And thank God we're together
I just want to stay with you in this moment forever
Forever and ever

I don't want to miss one smile
I don't want to miss one kiss
I just want to be with you
Right here with you, just like this
I just want to hold you close
Feel your heart so close to mine
And just stay here in this moment
For all the rest of time Yeah yeah yeah

I don't want to close my eyes
I don't want to fall asleep
Cause I'd miss you babe
And I don't want to miss a thing

What would Potter Stewart say?

So...is this porn?

It probably wouldn't meet most people's definition. But if "titilating" is a facet of that definition, it seemed to fall somewhere in that camp for me tonight. If you've read my last few posts, you won't be surprised to know that I needed to escape...rephrase: I wanted to escape, from this place, from this marriage. So on my phone I googled "esquire women we love," in search of something that I knew would be fair and fleshy but without actual nudity, since, for whatever wacko, ignobly pharisiacal reason(s), I don't cross that line anymore -- or at least haven't for many, many moons. Please hold your applause.

Off the top of the image results page leapt this shot of Ditta von Teese. I don't know who she is, but she's got that Tease part right, and what ensued was the first time in a long time that I've m'd with an actual physical or digital image in front of me.

Maybe I should feel worse than I do. Or maybe I'm past feeling.

Oooh, wait -- I just read in that Wiki article that she was married briefly to Marilyn Manson. Yick! Now I don't just feel bad, I feel gross!

20%

Tonight is the tenth night since my wife returned from her trip. The house is asleep. My wife, specifically, is asleep in the guest bedroom. Of the ten nights she's been back, we've slept in the same bed twice -- and, for the avoidance of doubt, very soundly, slumbering uninterruptedly from recline 'til dawn, no creaky springs, no burned calories...got it? on both occasions.

So that's going well within the range of expectations.

Yesterday two failures came to an ugly head:

1) The failed experiment in #1's year of homeschooling. In my critical and unfair observation, my wife (who earlier in life had been a big advocate of homeschooling, so much so that she has an extensive collection of homeschooling texts and other materials aggregated through the years) steered #1 toward an online course, because that is relatively hands-off for my wife. What it ended up being was a year of compounding all kinds of #1's tendencies toward underexertion, distraction, lack of discipline, etc.

2) A major setback in another worthy pursuit --the specifics of which aren't important-- that we've been working on for years (correction: I personally haven't been the one working on it, which, granted, may be part of the problem; I've just been paying whatever bills have been required for its continuation), and in which my father, who is an internationally-recognized expert in the field, had been coaxing along #1 as a special project (to say "protégé" would be a slight exaggeration, but he was very dedicated to the endeavor), but yesterday ended that relationship, for reasons (see "underexertion, distraction, lack of discipline," above) that are entirely understandable.

My related frustration -- anger, really -- is compounded primarily by the fact that these failures shine a spotlight on the growing manifestation in #1 of some of my own worst weaknesses, and I don't know how to keep them from being passed on to the next generation. I'm not the only one facing this dilemma (after all, "Nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent." - Calvin Coolidge) but it's maddening.

My frustration is also fueled by the idea that every minute my wife is spending on this MLM bullshit is a minute she's not spending with the kids. I've done a 180 on some of my views that created so much discord in the early days of our marriage -- such a change, in fact, that it's now the altered view (altered to the more traditional and previously-desirable --i.e., by my wife-- view) that is creating problems. I'm comfortable being the breadwinner. My job isn't my life's calling, but at the end of the day it's a great gig. I have fantastic colleagues, face regular challenges with a lot of opportunity for learning and growth, make for the most part meaningful (from the company's perspective) contribution, and am rewarded with very good pay. And now I expect my wife to be intently focused on the kids. But when days like yesterday happen, and I see #s 2 - 4 watching TV with alarming frequency and duration, often while my wife is MLMing, I reach my wit's end.

This morning we did a service activity for some members of the ward, but it took place in another city about 20 miles away. We carpooled with our neighbors, my wife's upline and her husband. His MLM views are not too dissimilar from mine, but he is infinitely more accommodating and diplomatic about the whole thing than I am. The wives were talking MLM the whole way. It wasn't a good drive for me. I was pouty silent the whole time. When we got home, I discussed my concerns about the children/time thing, first in an admittedly very destructive way (including mention of "working on your post-me income" -- while #1 was standing there) and then tried again a couple of hours later, but it didn't go much better.

Tonight, #1 insulted my father -- not to him and not harshly, but to me and cavalierly. We'd been looking forward to doing something special together (either alone or with #2) for Easter tomorrow, but the evening ended with me telling her to "shut up and go to bed," and, as I walked out of the door, that our plans weren't happening and I "didn't want to go with [her] anyway." (Yes, my delivery was as juvenile as it sounds here.)

The bittersweetness here is that this I had what was in many ways an almost sublime afternoon and evening with #s 2 & 3, while my wife took #1 and #4 to some MLM-related thing. (And I just paused this post a few minutes at the sound of #4's cries from his crib -- took him a bottle and sung him back to sleep on my shoulder. Indescribably gratifying.) But as the evening wound down, I felt my reasons for not wanting to remain a part of this marriage growing beyond the miserable marital union itself, and extending toward the children it produced, in that I don't want to stick around and watch as the very worst parts of my wife and me (and those are some ghastly bad parts, rest assured) seemingly inevitably become increasingly evident in them.

What now, The-Kate-Who-Would-Be-Queen compulsion?!

Wow, that was something I haven't experienced --well, the urge and the follow-through, not just the urge, as far as I can remember-- in years.

I was stuck in traffic on my drive home yesterday (cue ominous "idle minds" music) and a brief segment came on the radio about the upcoming royal wedding. Among other things, it mentioned that the Brits are obsessing every little tidbit, from the guest list, to the cake, to the royal bride's honeymoon undies. Keep in mind that I know and care as little as the next colonist about the wedding, and I don't find Miss Middleton to be more than average attractive. But as soon as I heard mention of "Kate's honeymoon lingerie," I had to see it. More specifically, I had to see her and imagine her wearing it. Not so much as a turn-on, but as a weird (and obviously false) power thing. Almost a "possession" thing, if that makes sense. It was all I could think about, until I googled "kate middleton honeymoon panties" and within the first few results arrived at this article -- with this handy reference photo, courtesy of the Sun's reader-conscious editors and art department, as an added bonus. Once I'd seen it, I could function normally again.

That same compulsion is what drove me, back when I was "doing" (or "involved in" or "smitten with" or whatever they call "looking at a whole lot of") porn, from hearing the name of a new Hollywood starlet or seeing some new supermodel on a cover at the grocery store checkout aisle, and focus with superhuman intensity on when I'd have the next opportunity to get online and see her en deshabille.

Curry in a hurry

This week I had lunch on my own at Curry in a Hurry. I was in the area, had never been there, was looking for something a little different, and decided to give it a shot.

Not bad. I recommend the chicken curry and the potato curry. Even better was the endless loop of Indian music videos playing in the little dining nook. Each one of them was hyper-saturated, hyper-romanticized Bollywood at its best, with puzzlingly gomer-looking guys chasing some of the most spectacularly gorgeous women on the planet around exotic locales, from the Ganges to the jungle to the pyramids (not sure why) to the Taj Mahal, wooing her, rejecting her, disdaining her, supplicating her, and, invariably, enrapturing her.

As a bonus, I noticed on their little wall of fame, right next to a shot of the ex-guv enjoying some potato curry, a few pics of Lindsey Vonn's visit to the fine establishment some time ago. (Yes, I did pause to orient myself relative to the photo and touch in homage the table where she appears to have been sitting. 'Cause I'm sick like dat.)

My sister, the cougar

My wife (Ms. Molly) and my eldest sister (Ms. Occasionally-Militant-But-Always-Bitter-Former-Member-of-Church), who is a dozen or so years my senior, have an interesting relationship. My wife genuinely likes her and is, I believe, genuinely interested in her well-being. But I wonder whether some of it is a curious fascination with the taboo, or an opportunity to be assured of piousness.

Anyway, my sister called my wife the other day, and in the course of the conversation mentioned --or perhaps this was the central purpose of the call, who knows-- that she'd had sex with an Italian guy, newly arrived in New York as a rising hot shot in his field, who is about my age. And my sister named me specifically when saying that he is about my age, which kind of gives me the willies. Not the fact that he's my age, but that she named me when relating the tale of a tryst. Anyway, evidently she said it was "by far the most incredible sex" she's ever had, and wondered what my wife thought about that. My wife never said how she responded and I didn't ask, but she asked me what I thought of it. What I thought was, "More power to her." But what I said was, "I don't know that my opinion on it matters to you or her."

Awards banquet

Tonight we attended a banquet for my business. At some mind-wandering moment in the evening, I noticed how nice my wife was looking, and the idea occurred to me that if I didn't know her, among the couple hundred women in that room, I might have checked her out.

I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad one.

Today, my boss (who, as I've mentioned, is a bishop in a high-rent Salt Lake County zip code) shared with me his process of having dialed the 801-240-1000 Bat Phone to get direction as to whether he could counsel a chronically-abused woman in his ward to seek divorce. He showed me an interesting James Faust talk that includes the following:

“What, then, might be ‘just cause’ for breaking the covenants of marriage? Over a lifetime of dealing with human problems, I have struggled to understand what might be considered ‘just cause’ for breaking of covenants. I confess I do not claim the wisdom or authority to definitively state what is ‘just cause.’ Only the parties to the marriage can determine this. They must bear the responsibility for the train of consequences which inevitably follows if these covenants are not honored. In my opinion, ‘just cause’ should be nothing less serious than a prolonged and apparently irredeemable relationship which is destructive of a person’s dignity as a human being."

Tonight after the event, my wife said that her sister, who just gave birth to her second child, has openly said that she wishes she hadn't married her husband, that she had the new baby just to give the first one a sibling, and hasn't left her husband because she thinks it would "devastate" him. Maybe so. But I imagine she's scared as well, maybe terrified, of becoming something like the movie mom, but probably with worse prospects than movie mom, for a variety of reasons I won't detail here.

Damn complicated, all of it.

Sunday swingers

We went for a long family drive this afternoon, out to the middle of nowhere. At one point --in the main park of a town whose entire population consisted of 87 people, 1,295 head of cattle, some apple trees and the most sheep I've seen in one place in Utah-- all four kids were on the swing set and my wife and I were side-by-side pushing two each, big smiles on all faces.

Felt pretty good.

My wife's not the only woman who's back

Lunch was nice. She appreciated it and seemed genuinely glad to be back, and back together. I was glad to see her, and the kids of course were elated. The last couple of days have gone generally smoothly, even pleasantly for the most part.

She reported to me that night that she believes she broke even on the trip through product sales alone, meaning that any business from having "signed people up" will now be gravy. In this conversation, it became evident that prior to the convention, she'd bought $8,000 worth of deeply-discounted inventory for $4,000 at a big quarter-end sale, to take to the convention. This conversation was the first I'd heard about this expenditure. Because, however, she reported that she'd sold enough that the net effect was now that she had a few thousand dollars worth of "free" inventory, and because she was so pleased about it, and because I'm trying to be Mr. Positive, I just let it go.

As I was fertilizing the lawn this afternoon, my neighbor (husband of her upline) and I chatted briefly over the fence. He said, "When [his wife] told me that [my wife] had spent $5,000 on product to take to the trip, I told her, 'Wow, make sure [my name] doesn't kill you for getting [my wife] into this thing!'" "Wait, $5,000?" I asked. "[My wife] told me it was four." "No, pretty sure it was $5,000, but maybe that included some of the convention expenses or whatever."

Then it began to sink in that my wife had spent several thousand dollars without telling me. (Keep in mind that she's not yet cashflowing to any significant degree in this thing, so this is all straight household "budget" money, i.e., money I've earned.) I became progressively less and less enthused with that fact, and as a result let myself spiral for the rest of the day. This was accelerated by her having discovered today--or maybe just having told me today--that her credit card processor doesn't appear to have been working right at the convention, so she "sold" (i.e., gave away) a still-to-be-determined amount of product in transactions that didn't process. She kept written receipts, many of which appear to have names and addresses on them but no telephone numbers that I noticed, so if she can't track down these people, that whole "broke even" thing is shot. She's still in the investigative mode, so I don't know yet what the scale of this will be.

When she took the kids on some errands in the late afternoon, I m'd angrily, for the first time in a long time thinking not once about her --in fact trying to hard to keep her entirely out of my mind-- but about Helena/Flo/Isabella/Debbie in her traditional "navy lace" set. Then I went on a bike ride up one of the canyons, and weighed at length the possibility of engaging a cute jogger who had smiled at me. (Trust me when I claim that some girl smiled at me or our eyes locked and held or what not -- I may warrant a lot of unflattering descriptions, but "entirely delusional" isn't one of them.) When I showered after my ride, I m'd again, this time to a Hotel Monaco --I don't know what it is about that place-- fantasy scenario with the Ginger Grant gal. I went straight to bed afterwards while she was in the office working on "the business," just woken up now with a dehydration headache from my bike ride, and found that she'd gone to sleep in a separate bed. Probably a good thing.

Despite my percolating anger, I haven't yet circled back to her about it. I'm letting these three approaches vie for position:

[ ] A. Hey baby, I want this deal to go really well for you. But until you can fund it out of your own profits, please don't ever spend that kind of cash again on this without talking with me about it first, OK?

[ ] B. If you're going to continue pursuing this business, I'm going to separate our finances entirely. My paycheck will direct deposit to my own account, I'll pay all the major bills and give you fixed monthly allotments for the other main items, and then you can spend to your heart's content out of your earnings, without so much as even mentioning it to me. How does that sound?

[ ] C. Next time you do that will be your final and definitive signal to me that this marriage is over, and I'll take my leave.

Imminent normalcy

As I spoke with my wife tonight on the drive home, I found myself really looking forward to her return.

Yes, I want to have a lot of sex with her, and maybe at some point call it making love. Yes, the home runs infinitely more smoothly when she's here, and I'm much better as the backup caregiver than as the starting point guard.

But I'm also looking forward to her companionship. I'm going to pick her up at the airport tomorrow and take her to a nice lunch, then hope for the best. Okay, I may also need to work a bit for the best, as well. So maybe it's a chance to shoot for a new normal.

(12 minutes later)

None of this cheery optimism kept me just now, after watching some clips of Obama's deficit speech, from watching that damn Gaddafi video again --of course I insta-rationalized it, knowing from past experience that the dancer keeps her clothes on and therefore wouldn't escort me across a clearly-defined line) and then a related video of a Persian beauty doing her ancient equivalent.

Damn. Well, as I was saying about normal...

Apparently, not all moderation is good moderation

So wait -- assuming this study is legit, if we cut it down from once a quarter to once a year, does that increase or decrease the risk?

CHICAGO, March 22 (Reuters) – Sudden bursts of moderate to intense physical activity -- such as jogging or having sex -- significantly increase the risk of having a heart attack, especially in people who do not get regular exercise, U.S. researchers said on Tuesday.

Doctors have long known that physical activity can cause serious heart problems, but the new study helps to quantify that risk, Dr. Issa Dahabreh of Tufts Medical Center in Boston, whose study appears in the Journal of the American Medical Association.

The team analyzed data from 14 studies looking at the link between exercise, sex and the risk of heart attacks or sudden cardiac death -- a lethal heart rhythm that causes the heart to stop circulating blood.

They found people are 3.5 times more likely to get a heart attack or have sudden cardiac death when they are exercising compared to when they are not.

And they are 2.7 times more likely to get a heart attack when they are having sex or immediately afterward compared with when they are not. (These findings do not apply to sudden cardiac death because there were no studies looking at the link between sex and cardiac death.)

Jessica Paulus, another Tufts researcher who worked on the study, said the risk is fairly high as such studies go. But the period of increased risk is brief.

"These elevated risks are only for a short period of time (1 to 2 hours) during and after the physical or sexual activity," Paulus said in a telephone interview.

Because of that, the risk to individuals over the course of a year is still quite small, she said.

"If you take 10,000 people, each individual session of physical or sexual activity per week can be associated with an increase of 1 to 2 cases of heart attack or sudden cardiac death per year," Paulus said.

She said it is important to balance the findings with other studies showing that regular physical activity reduces the risk of heart attacks and sudden cardiac death by 30 percent.

"What we really don't want to do is for the public to walk away from this and think exercise is bad," she said.

What it does mean is that people who do not exercise regularly need to start any exercise program slowly, gradually increasing the intensity of the workout over time.

A thing of beauty, indeed

Speaking of distracting billboards, you heard here first that the ravishing Stella Artois beauty on eastbound I-80 will cause at least seven rush hour fender benders before she's moved elsewhere. But I hope it boosts sales and they start running their TV ads!

Go-see

I learned a new term tonight as I sat in a business dinner at Bambara, distractedly watching a parade of leggy Amazons strut to and from the Hotel Monaco lobby: Go-see. Apparently some talent agency was having a "go-see," and while my colleague ducked into the restroom as the valet fetched the car, I was able to document Mr. Booberry Sneakers telling this gangly 15-year-old (who "looked at least 21, officer, I swear it...") that she needed to go get braces "n-o-w, NOW!"

La Vida Too Much Loca

Only in Utah or Saudi Arabia would the surfer girl on this Costa Vida billboard be wearing a modest, '50s-era one-piece one week, and then a neoprene wetsuit conspicuously lacquered over her décolletage the next. Maybe it's that she's kneeling in a "four point stance," back swayed, lips parted and a quasi-ecstatic look on her face. Then again, it seems unlikely that anyone who would complain about such a photo would have any associations with such a posture other than prayer.

Morning gory

Last night, after I tucked in #3, he said I was his best friend in the whole, wide world, then offered me one of his two bears to keep me safe while I was "sleeping all alone in that big bed."

This morning, by the time I'd made it through another epic poopie diaper, burnt eggs and Nephi's shipbuilding project, I was ready to disown all of them and call up my wife to tell her that the catch 22 of her situation (or is it?) is that the next time she leaves town for this long in order to further her Need-My-Own-Income-Just-In-Case efforts will be the precise occasion on which she will start to need her Just-In-Case fund.

It was the right decision not to call her in the heat of the moment. My volatility about this marriage is frustrating and perplexing. Just a couple of weeks ago, I spontaneously bought her a stunning diamond and aquamarine O.C. Tanner ring at a charity auction, because she'd gasped, "Wow, look at that! It's amazing!" as we perused the goods up for bid -- and she's not a sparkle girl. I've put more than $2,000 into her van while she's been on this trip, wanting to giver her a real surprise when she gets back. So much impels me to please her, and feel gratified at her sense of being adored. And so much suggests to me that our demise is inevitable, so why drag it out?

The 90/10 Rule

Recently, when my wife heard me kidding around with #1, she told her, "Look, it's a really good idea to ignore 90% of everything your dad says. It's what I do." And she didn't follow it up with an obvious signal that she was kidding. Not sure if that was the best parenting tactic. She (#1) has invoked the maxim twice in the last several days.

Natural assumption

My bishop asked me on Monday or Tuesday if we could meet sometime this week, but our schedules haven't yet aligned. He lives across the street, my office faces onto our front yard (there is no curtain on the window), and we're well into the wee hours of Sunday morning as I type. I wonder if he's over there wondering whether I'm up looking at porn, and I wonder whether the truth would make him more or less concerned than if I were.

Ideelism

Another eye-catching ideeli ad caught my eye as I was checking out the latest on the Federal Budget fiasco on CNN.com before signing off for the night.

Wow, that, mes amis, is a pair of shoulder blades, n'est-ce pas?

Lancômely

I used to enjoy going to the mall. Now I hate the mall. But I hate it less than being in our house by day with more than a couple of the kids, so a segment of the "What to do on a sleety April afternoon?" agenda found me in the late afternoon, while #1 & 2 were at the latest Narnia show, doing a slow, internal lap of the mall with #3 & 4, the latter being Bobbed around by the former, who loved every minute of the whole deal -- the lights, the sounds, the people, the escalators, etc. Among the many, lovely legs --most of them striding below jail bait, however-- was this exquisite pair at the Lancôme counter. (At what point of an 8-hour shift do those heels start inflicting five-alarm excruciation?)

Dollar Movies

My wife's trade show is going better than she had ever imagined it would. So her update call this morning before opening resounded with confidence and enthusiasm. As the cock crowed and the crowds entered the exhibition hall, she gave a quick "I love you!" as she hung up to attend to them.

I imagine I will have learned several things by the time she returns from what is to date her longest trip away from the kids and me. One thing I've already learned in her absence is that if our marriage disbands (I conspicuously avoid using the term "fails" there, because one might argue that it has already failed), it would be disastrous for everyone were I to get more than token time. Man, being a mom is hard stuff! I'd be much better as the "fun" parent! Except that my patience invariably expires at the third "ask," upon which I immediately get really, really STERN & LOUD! (Insert obligatory "because I don't have the Spirit" acknowledgment here.)

Of course the kids did their chores this morning -- vacuuming, cleaning the bathrooms, etc. Then I made them gourmet burritos for lunch, which they loved. But after that, I went into "Since I can't take all of them skiing on my own [actually, I could have pulled it off, but it would have been an epic undertaking to A-to-Z it solo], how can we make it through the rest of this day in an upbeat and not-entirely-meaningless way?" Step 1 was for #1 to babysit while #4 napped, #2 went to play with friends, and #3 went with me to the Yogi Bear matinee at the dollar theater.

We entered a few minutes late and had to step past a few people en route from the aisle to our seats next to the wall. After my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I noticed that it was a woman, late-20s or so, with three little kids. Didn't think much about it. After a few minutes, she leaned over to me and asked whether #3 needed a booster seat, and if so, "You can borrow one of ours, we're just fine, or I could grab you one because I'm closer to where they stack them. It's no problem, really. Are you sure you don't want one?" This unusual friendliness manifest itself in a few different ways (giggling at semi-cute comments #3 would make, offers of popcorn, effusive apologies when one of her kids bumped #3's arm on the shared armrest, etc.) and at fairly regular intervals until the end of the show. I wondered whether she was just your run-of-the-mill pleaser, or if there was anything else at play.

When the credits rolled and the lights came back to their semi-dim movie theater glow: a) I saw that she was fairly cute, maybe a 7, slender, average height; b) I noticed that she didn't have a ring; c) I realized that the positions and angles were such that she hadn't been able to (and still couldn't) see my left hand; and d) It was clear that she wasn't in a rush to vacate with her little crew, even though the house was almost empty and they were between us and the aisle. My hypothesis quickly congealed, and in order to test it further, I put my left hand my pocket as we made our mass exit. She glanced at me several times as she guided the kids through the corridor, and one last time as she steered them into the lobby restrooms. I stayed in that spot for a few minutes, and when I saw the first of the kids emerge, I looked down at my phone and pretended to be texting (with just my right hand; my left hand was out of view on #3's back) until she was clearly in my peripheral view. I looked up at her, our eyes held for two, maybe three seconds, then I turned #3 toward the door and we left.

I had a few different thoughts as we got into the car and drove off. The first was of intrigue. Just last week, I had a conversation about divorced LDS mothers with a colleague who until last fall had been in the bishopric of his Draper ward. What he shared both from his own observation in his ward and his knowledge of divorced friends (men and women) jibed to the letter with what I've heard elsewhere, including from my best friend from childhood who is unmarried and who was for several years (but is no longer) very active in the mid-20s to mid-30s Wasatch Front dating scene. For your convenience, I've distilled years of earnest, expert research on the topic into these, the Three Truths of divorced LDS mothers in that age range:

1) "Dangit," (direct quote from first-hand experience reported to me), "they always seem to have to have made a baby or two with the guy before finally deciding that the marriage wasn't going to work."

2) They are both liberated and desperate, this balance shifting more and more toward the latter as the novelty of freedom abates with the passage of time from D-Day. And they're arguably more desperate than their non-LDS counterparts, for reasons beyond just finding at worst male validation --to help blur memories of "the jerk"-- and at best a companion and breadwinner, bearing in mind of course the longstanding pattern of LDS women dropping out of college upon marriage, and the younger-than-average ages at which they marry.

3) This desperation (compounded by the rustiness of the "Knowing When To Stop" tools of a divorcee, especially one who is relatively recently divorced) leads them to "lay it all out there" to prospects, with surprising willingness, speed, frequency and vigor, most likely as a strong maternal instinct (see "breadwinner") in order to hook a man.

So my first thoughts were about that, and I amused myself by wondering (only in passing) whether, if I played my cards right/wrong, I could manage to do something desperate with her tonight. Then my next thoughts, and the ones that lingered, were more sobering, as I pictured my own kids as the ones being schlepped around on a cold and sleety Saturday afternoon by a determined but desperate, divorced mom.

I've been Jimmered

Just before signing off for the night, I clicked over to see whether Jimmer Fredette won the Wooden Award -- which he did. The AP release included this quote:

Each of the top five men's finalists were on hand, and each chose their favorite Wooden quote. Fredette's selection was: "The true test of a man's character is what he does when no one is watching."

I wish they all could be Croatian girls

I purchased something on e-bay today from a guy in Croatia, and thought that with my payment, I'd send him a note about B.Y.U. basketball legend Kresimir Cosic. That led to a google of Zagreb, which yielded some images of Croatian night clubs. (Cue ominous "...carefully down to hell..." music.) I've heard that the Southern Balkans were full of lovely, long ladies and majestic men, making them a hot destination on the sex tourism itinerary (for both men and women), and this gal pictured standing at a club called Gjuro2 helps me to understand the allure a bit.

The "A" Word

And I don't mean Adultery, although that wouldn't have been an unreasonable assumption. This morning I was feeling a bit spunky, so I texted my wife (still out of town) that her "ass looked really good in the yoga pants [she] wore on the airplane." Seemed fun, playful, and a bit rowdy, all of which would be welcome additions to our sex life (or "physical intimacy," in my wife's jargon). If you've read any of my posts and know anything about her attitudes toward anything coital that isn't hermetically sealed, it probably won't surprise you that it's now approaching midnight and I have yet to get a response from her.

This began to annoy me a bit as I was touring a house this evening on the way home from work. The sellers' agent (a few but not too many years older than me) started looking more and more attractive the longer we were alone together in the house. It wasn't until we were exploring the recesses of the basement that it dawned on me what a potentially compromising situation we were in. I vented by lingering in the master walk-in closet and running my fingers over a lacy teal bra that was partially tucked underneath some jeans. While aware that it crossed a line of some kind, I did it without hesitation, seeing it as a relatively benign--albeit admittedly somewhat perverse--way to cope with the swirling sentiments. But I remained agitated about the stiflingly narrow boundaries of sexual expression in my marriage, anticipating that at best it would remain the same, but more likely it would narrow progressively in the years to come -- until eventually, well, after a few more years there would be no coming.

At home this evening, #1 had gone to a movie with my parents, #s 3 & 4 were in bed, so I purged by playing an epic Monopoly game with #2. Lasted nearly 3 hours. We had a blast. He was vibrant and engaged, and is a surprisingly aggressive little capitalist and good mathematician for a first grader. Another priceless evening with him. I direly need to spend more time with these kids (Did I mention that this morning I cleaned up a poop explosion from #4 that went all the way up his back and into his hair?), and suspect that more time with me might not be bad for them, either.

Mouth of babe babes patrol

I don't think I've mentioned that #1 (daughter, now 11) has, twice in the past week, called me to repentance with unexpected and unprecedented zeal.

I attended an event of hers several nights ago, after which we went out together for dessert. She was playing with my phone as we awaited the goods, and suddenly stuck D&C 42 in front of my face, zoomed in on "cleave unto her and none else," saying, "See that? That's mom's favorite scripture...for YOU!"

A couple of days later, we passed a small poster for a student harp recital at one of the colleges. The photo caught my eye and I slowed my pace slightly for a closer look at the blond (although who's to say it wasn't to check the time and location?), upon which Little Miss Marriage Monitor yanked on my hand and said, "Don't even think about it, buster!"

I asked my wife about the D&C Manifesto--I chose to pass on the harpist encounter--and how open she'd been with our daughter regarding the related issues. She said she'd made no mention at all, and I believe her. Did she overhear a conversation? Certainly there may have been opportunities for that. But it makes me wonder. Certainly can't be a good thing, that's for sure. (Well, unless it's what ultimately keeps me inside the pasture gate...assuming that's a good thing in the long run, which is The Big Question.)

sexxy girl interested in no commitments partner 29 (Millcreek)

My wife left the other morning with her friend (and "upline," in MLM lingo, as, if you've lived in Utah for more than an afternoon, you are no doubt aware) to do a convention in the Midwest, which also corresponded with the baptism of an old high school acquaintance of hers who reappeared on the scene six months ago and announced that, because of my wife's example and influence way back when, she wanted to learn more about the Church. I dropped of the MLMers off pre-dawn at SLC and they exuded energy and optimism as they entered the terminal schlepping their wares. The parting image of my wife was of her butt, now dramatically slimmer (for obvious reasons) than in the closer aftermath of the birth of #4 early last year, fitting somewhat firmly and generally snugly in the yoga pants she prefers to travel in. So I've had that image in my mind for a day or two, and imagine it's a good thing that it stirs in me feeling of desire toward her, the first I've felt (with the exception of our anniversary weekend) in quite some time.

Tonight we were talking, she updated me on last night's baptism and today's busy convention. At the end, I told her I hoped she was enjoying her time away from all of us and that I was looking forward to seeing her again. She made me repeat the "seeing her again" part, then she said she loved me. I said, "Really? That's interesting, and mildly surprising. Why?" She said things don't have to be perfect for her to love me, and noted that she's been wearing the necklace I gave her for our anniversary. I wasn't ready for sincerity, so I responded that I've been thinking about sex today and there's nobody around with whom those ideas can legally and lawfully be manifest physically. She asked, "Does it all have to be about sex?" "Not all of it, but lots of it." "Then maybe you're just going to need to go and break the law." Which was an interesting concept, and odd to hear. Before our conversation, I'd been looking at mountain bikes for the kids on ksl.com and then craigslist. Without hesitation, I clicked on "women seeking men," just to see what was there but without (famous last words) real intent. I think I'd been there once, many years ago. It was interesting. Found several along these lines:

sexxy girl interested in no commitments partner 29 (Millcreek)
Date: 2011-04-01, 7:48PM MDT
I broke up with my fiancee Tuesday, at the moment I'm simply looking for a man to hang out with and have a fun time. Definitely not trying to get into another relationship, but I do require a great screwing. I am an desirable lady, pic for a pic.

Doesn't seem like it would be too difficult to "go and break the law," if one were, at long last, really set in that direction. Today I'm not set in that direction.

I read the BofM with the kids over breakfast this morning, and we had family prayer tonight before they went to bed. Both of them firsts for me in a long, long time.

More sorrow for sin

Conference again. I'd decided at a previous conference to avoid the Temple and Conference Center grounds between sessions because of the eye candy that awaited there, and the impression it made on me--which sounds like I'm a passive victim...rephrase, "the impression I invited it to have on me"--and the resulting actions I sometimes took. So I stuck to my guns this time around, as well. Except that I had to go give tickets to somebody across the street in the standby line. So I made a break for it. As I hustled across the Fergie dressalike competition that in truth was the Conference Center plaza (not failing to inventory the killer kalves showcased by the ever-shorter hemlines abounding everywhere despite the lingering snowy winter weather, but really considering pulling out my phonecam), I felt ashamed of those past actions, like a pervert destined to someday become a lonely, dirty, old pervert.

Back inside, as the Meganacle filled for the afternoon session, I again noted the disproportionately high concentration of generally stunning legs under generally very short skirts down in the VIP section toward the front, an area cordoned off from the unwashed masses and reserved for sundry dignitaries like the families of the GAs.

I normally can't sit through an entire Richard Scott talk. The clinically compassionate, imploring tone, coupled with the gradual zoom camera action that begins at normal framewidth but by the end of the speech shows only the bridge of his nose as he begs you to repent, stirs an intolerable sense of guilt in my soul. But today's was for some reason different. I assessed myself against his checklist of marital unity, and found that I failed on every single count except for physical infidelity. But I listened. I may have even learned.

The Robbins talk (cutesy Hamlet intro notwithstanding) on raising children was outstanding. And the choir's closing number was spot-on, but it's that damned old C.S. Lewis conundrum of loathing the sin but not wanting to kill the red lizard altogether.